


The wicked games we play

by Illidria



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Day 5, F/M, LLF Comment Project, figure skating AU, livmilesweek 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 10:29:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12815589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illidria/pseuds/Illidria
Summary: “Think he’ll win?”She huffed at his question, breath a small cloud in front of her face.“He’ll trample them into the ground with a smile on his face!”Laughed at her words, squeezed her shoulder, what she answered with a sharp hit of her elbow. Went over to his disciple, the next to show his short-program, Karley and Henschel already through.“All set?”





	The wicked games we play

**Author's Note:**

> And here is fic number five for this years LivMilesWeek: The figure skating AU nobody asked for :D  
> And people: Sports in another language is damn hard^^ Honestly, I can explain figure skating in German rather well, but dang, if you have to look up every second word AND a few jumps are named differently… I hope it is understandable^^  
> And by the way:  
> Velikan means giant & Tolstyak means fatty ;)  
> Italics are Drachman

It was weird to stand in front of the ruins.

He'd thought this skating rink to be his home away from home for more than fifteen years now, had trained in there since he'd started as a kid. Could very well remember the first time his father had taken him, taught him how to skate, taking him again when he saw how happy it made him. Soon he'd shown promise, had went here rather than home, or school, or anywhere else. And now he was a pro, twenty-four years old and albeit he had a flat in East City, he had no ice to train on.

"They set-up an emergency plan with the league."

Turned towards Mustang, a few years his junior, the man who'd soon be a champion, he had no doubt about that.

"So, we'll get the possibility to train someplace else?"

The leather jacket feeling too warm to him, autumn or not. Maybe he was imagining it, felt the fire still smouldering underneath the rubble. Searched for the spark inside of him, almost gone out after the last season. He'd lost embarrassingly, had fluked at the second most important of competitions, thought about giving up on his career altogether.

"I'll be sent to Central, there's room for me to train and hours I can manage in which I'll have the rink to myself. Old Grumman will continue to train from there, so I guess you'll be coming too?"

The old geezer was quite something else, had been incredible in his time, but their connection could be better. They liked each other, Grumman told him repeatedly that he saw a lot of promise in him, but there'd never been true understanding. Felt his answer, before he really thought about it.

“I'll see where they have another place for me. Centrals not really my city."

Tried not to look at Mustang, the honest and sad look on his face. They'd become friends over the years, both having trained in East City for so long now, together.

"I'll miss you, it was always fun training with you, not to mention that you're not crazy."

Gave in and turned, taking the man’s hand, shaking it.

"Me too, though honestly, you're batshit!"

The other man leaving, waving at him, while he still looked at the rubble.

* * *

 

His beloved leather jacket was not nearly warm enough for North City.

He'd gotten off the train, stomping into snow as soon as he left the station, almost slipping on the stairs. And he’d wondered why the people looked at him so intensively when he got off the train, he at least having seen three other Ishvalans in the vicinity. The sub-region from Amestris he came from brought forth many scholars, was well known, far and wide. Dark skin, white hair, red eyes. It was a common saying, that an Ishvalan was easy to spot, yet hard to find. An unloved jab at the decline of faith many had observed, a side-effect to the opening of borders and minds in the past years. He was one of the first figure-skaters to emerge form there though, which was met with even more jabs.

At the foot of the stairs the first person asked him for an autograph.

He of course gave it, made a selfie with the young woman and made a bit of small-talk, but was abashed nonetheless. His last season had been ruinous, his last public show embarrassing at the very least. Not one jump he’d landed. Not even a single. Hadn’t made it to the grand-final either and crushed the hopes of his countrymen to be the first Ishvalan winning one. And now he was in North City, the only place where a spot for one more skater was free and a trainer willing to take him on. Having no idea where he had to go, where the pension he'd stay at was.

Running after the young woman who'd just gotten his autograph to ask her for help, slipping less than gracefully.

While he lay on the floor, a shadow moved above him. Rose-coloured parker, white teddy-lining on the collar. Thick, fluffy boots, black leggings, a knitted had with a bobble on top of the woman’s head and a shawl wound around most of her face, white and woolly. He saw almost nothing of it, except for a pair of incredibly blue eyes.

"You're Miles?"

He nodded, still flat on his back, scrambling to get up.

"Yes, and you are?"

She huffed, everything muffled by the thick shawl.

"Here to pick you up, follow me!"

And turned, leaving him to haste behind. Grabbed his backpack, having gloriously flown off during his tumble into the snow and tried to keep his teeth from shattering because of the cold. Caught up with her, walking ahead with a sure step, gaze pointed straight forward.

"The league send you?"

A snort.

"Like I let the league order me around. Your new trainer sent me to pick you up."

She turned, looking him up and down, and he felt self-conscious all of a sudden. Looked away, squirming under her steely gaze, taking in the city surrounding them. North City was small in comparison to the other big cities of Amestris, though almost as many people lived here. The buildings surrounding him were tall, old and darkened by the coal dust of the many mines. On a small hill he could see their skating rink, called the Palace by everybody. It was an ancient building, though completely renovated and modernised on the inside. He'd competed in there, amazed at how well kept the building was, style not altered from two-hundred years ago. The Underground Railway station they entered now feeling the same, old architecture and style preserved, but adjusted for modern requirements.

Found his voice again, when her eyes finally stropped their less than subtle inspection of him.

"Who's my new trainer? I was told that I'd be informed personally."

Which had been a gamble, still felt like a bad deal to him. Miles had never trusted easily, though got along with many. And he needed a trainer he could trust, that would help him mentally too. With the technique he'd rarely struggled, but often with himself. And to be honest, North City was a last-ditch effort and not even a good one at that. He’d only wanted a way to forego crawling back to his hometown in shame and when he’d been offered the spot here, he’d jumped at the chance.

"And your new trainer will personally inform you."

She looked out of the window, upon gloomy underground tunnels, graffiti everywhere. Seemed to not want to talk to him anymore, so he held the questions burning on his tongue, and focused instead of shivering in his too thin jacket.

Had taken all the stuff from his flat in East City, cleared it out and packed it up, renting a storage unit. He’d not known how big his living accommodations would be when he got the news of North City, so thought it best to check it out first. There’d been talk of a pension and he wondered if it would be a temporary solution. Only travelled with his backpack, skates, a change of clothes and his laptop in it. Got up when the woman did too, following her wordlessly.

Mustang had already send snaps from Central, the rink, his new rooms, even posted a video of a training session. All the others having scattered with the burned down rink too, some more, some less. Who’d trained under Grumman had gone with him, others, who had their own trainers, had been distributed across Amestris, wherever a skating rink was ready to make accommodations.

North City had never been among those in the past, their trainer, only called the Drachman dancing Bear, nothing short of a legend. Had settled in the city after his career as a skater came to an end, married and soon afterwards started a new career as a trainer. A very successful one. There were others who trained people in the Palace, but nobody knew their name. Though he was quite sure that he’d learn one of them soon.

He nearly ran into her, when she came to a halt.

Backed off after a glare, watched shivering as she rummaged in her parka-pockets for a key and opened the door. He watched at the building a moment longer, columns and wood combined seeming strange at first, the small windows and the stone of the dado. But pleasant in a way, the warm light shining from the inside homey. Her voice jolted him out of his reverie.

“Get moving, I don’t want to hunt the dogs all afternoon!”

Followed her command, stepping inside and feeling warmer immediately.

Stone floor on which he stood, a little step a few feet in, everything he saw from there carpeted. Watched as she stood on the back of her shoes, pulling them off.

“Take off your shoes, or you’ll get the snow all around the house.”

Followed her example, put the shoes on a small shelf she showed him and moved to pull off his jacket when he saw her do the same. Was done quickly, inadequately clothed as he was and when he turned to her, with the intention to ask where he should put the jacket, his jaw hit the floor.

It wasn’t that the lost parka revealed a rose-coloured and fitted pullover, trim figure underneath, nor the full lips revealed by a taken-off shawl, stuffed into the parkas sleeve. Nor the blonde hair, long and curly and static, when she pulled off the hat. But all of this combined had him gasping for air.

In front of him stood Olivier Mira Armstrong, seven-time Amestrian Champion of the females when one summarized all age-groups, four-time world-champion, twice each in youngster and in senior category. She had a bronze Olympic medal in single and pair-skate each, the latter achieved with her then skating partner Solf Kimblee. It was something every figure skater remembered, how he’d not caught her during their crucial performance. She’d sprained her ankle when hitting the ice, but ended their program, not backing down.

Hadn’t she been hindered by this injury during her solo finals a few days later, she’d have won gold.

She hadn’t partaken in pair-skating ever since, Kimblee had left first for Central and then for Drachma not long after the incident, but she’d become a legend that day, three years ago. How she’d skated her solo, not once pulling a face, landing her jumps, though they’d been toned down in difficulty. She’d been on crutches the second she left the rink.

The nickname the Ice Queen had been well-deserved.

And by the way she was looking at him, head crocked to the side, she seemed less than impressed at his gawking.

“Wondered when you’d figure it out.”

Wanted to answer, to close his mouth at least. Gawked like a fish in the water a bit more, noticing the smile that played along one corner of her mouth.

Finally pulling him out of it were two Alaskan malamutes, tackling him.

* * *

 

He tried desperately not to die on the spot.

In front of him sat William Buccaneer, better known as the Drachman Dancing Bear. He was a living legend, more than two metres tall, bulky and yet few had been more graceful on the ice than him. His technique had been un-paralleled, the height of his jumps too. He’d been the first to successfully jump and land a quadruple salchow.

His long black hair started to grey, his smile was big and after freeing him from the two over-excitable dogs, he was invited further inside, for tea with jam and cake.

And next to the man sat his wife, currently telling him the story of how they met.

“… and apparently he couldn’t talk to women and so never had a real date before! But I did not let that deter me and just talked him through it. He even answered, after about half a year! Only one-word sentences, but…”

Solaris was kind and beautiful, had given him a pair of fluffy slippers to wear and asked what kind of tea he liked and if not, what else he wanted to drink. She’d been the first non-Drachman ballet-dancer invited to dance in the Drachman Capital as part of a stage production and apparently the reason why all of Buccaneers disciples scored so high in expression and technique.

A bit to the side sat Olivier Armstrong, the two huge dogs apparently hers, cuddling close. All three eyeing him from a distance. And on his other the young men Karley and Henschel, fourteen and thirteen respectively, promising juniors each of them.

“…but enough of us now, you’ve already met Livvie on the way here and Velikan and Tolstyak introduced themselves,” she gesticulated in the direction of the two dogs, brown-white Velikan and black-white Tolstyak looking at him, ready to try and cuddle him to death again, “and all the others are introduced now too. Do you have any questions?”

The woman smiling at him charmingly, though that did not help his nerves. His thoughts were following the same pattern since he understood just where he was, who he was with, who was going to train him from now on. He had nothing to show for, bombed his last season and had been ready to leave the sport altogether. There was nothing he could give them, ask them, show them, to pay off the trust they seemed to put in him.

“I’m…I think that…I…”

Stammered, rubbing the back of his head with his hand, looking everywhere, but not into anybody’s eyes. A snide voice cutting through his incoherent sentence, asking the question that really had been on his mind.

“You want to know why you’re here?”

His eyes shooting to Armstrong’s, red irises locking onto blue. Her face was impossible to read, her tone not easy for him to identify. Was she angry that he was here, or did she like it? Did she maybe know more than him? No, that she certainly did.

“Liv, give him some time!”

Buccaneer looking at her too, sounding stern, pulling her gaze away from him. Met her toe for toe, he now too able to understand that anger lurked within her, but that it wasn’t aimed at him as a person.

“You really think I don’t know what you’re up to?!”

She shot back, now every tiny speck of anger clear for everybody. The dogs were licking her hands, tried to reach her face, too.

“Not in front of our guest!”

Watched as the blonde got up at that, huffing, leaving the room. The dogs followed, seemingly feeling their owner’s troubles.

Only when the door smashed shut behind her did Buccaneer turn back to him, sighing. He felt that everybody was uncomfortable, and he feared that it had quite a lot to do with his presence here.

Took another brave try at stammering.

“What…what was that about?”

Knew that it wasn’t his place to ask, almost surprised when he got an answer anyways.

“You wonder why we invited you to come?”

Nodding stiffly, all eyes on him now, trying not to show his displeasure at getting his own question answered with another.

“Remember that video one of your mates in East City made and uploaded? Where you do her choreography to “Chandelier”?”

Turned beet-red at that, the skating of it having been done by him out of pure fun, at a time in the morning when nobody was there, usually. He’d always liked to get to training early, to have the ice to himself for a bit. Mustang had been early that morning too, filmed him and uploaded it. Had gone back and forth with the people into the sport and while many had praised him for it, just as much hate he’d gotten for it. For trying to seem like her, for excelling at it, but not even landing one jump in the season before.

Wondered what she thought about it.

“Yes, though really, I didn’t even know I was filmed! I’m really sorry that it was uploaded and never wanted to offend…”

His shamed words cut short by a grumbling laugh from the huge man.

“Please, don’t be ashamed! You did great, even miss grumpy said so! It showed your potential, that there still is lots of promise inside of you, that we just have to coax it out!”

Looked at the man, singing his praises, not believing anything of it, shell-shocked.

“We’ll train you if you want to, you’ll live here with us and if you sometimes help out around the pension, we’d be grateful! You can of course leave, if you really want to, but I’m positive that you’ll like it here after a while!”

Smiled at him, big and toothy too small of a description for it, his own worry not gone. Coming forth again, feeling like he could voice it with these people.

“Then why was she so angry?”

Watched Buccaneers smile falter, heard a sigh escape the man.

“I maybe mentioned once, how in-tune you seemed to be with her way of moving. She’s very graceful, not overly feminine in her movements, but something in between. And you matched that, quite feminine for a man, but really in the middle of it all. It’s quite hard to find someone matching her style, with the needed skills to boot. She took it the wrong way.”

Saw hurt flash over the man’s face, over everybody’s, really.

“After the fall with her former partner and the following falling out with him, we searched for a new one for a while. She wasn’t really on board with this and thwarted our attempts every time and now, a few years later, she has quite a short fuse concerning the matter. I’m quite sure that she thinks I took you on to pair you up with her.”

The question tumbling from his mouth without thinking about it.

“And did you?”

His honesty apparently funny, the tension finally leaving the room.

“Heavens no! I see promise in you, that’s why I want you under my care! I know better by now than to hurt Liv like that!”

A smile coming to his own face, even though faintly. Felt himself finally calming down a little, though still fearing to betray the trust they seemed to put in him. To fail again and now dirty the reputation of this man.

The man who in his sudden happiness smashed his fist to the table, smiling at him, leaning closer.

“So, when do you usually start best?”

* * *

 

Solaris sighed while setting up the bed for him.

“So, she’s really out with the dogs. Probably went to the Palace in her anger. She’ll return late then, so don’t be startled when she just barges into the room. We told her you’d sleep here, so don’t worry.”

Finished up and left him alone after wishing him a good night, backpack in his hand, looking around the foreign and strange room.

The pension was booked full at the moment, the room designated to him not yet cleared, because of all the work. He’d stay in her room for the next few days, until everything was settled, not big either, but still navigable with the second mattress in it. Sat down on it, and looked around.

The thing most striking were the numerous pictures.

Armstrong, about twelve years old, with Buccaneer and Solaris. Shots from the skating rink, shots from competitions. He saw many others he knew, young and old. A picture of her and Mustang, both still very young, another with her and Rebecca Catalina, who’d made her debut at the seniors last year. Saw the mandatory ballet-practice pictures too, and many with her dogs.

He’d started living away from home at age sixteen, when his parents had moved to Ishval, the place they went to not having a skating rink. But he’d been rebellious at the time anyways, had cherished in being his own boss, however homesick he was at times. Knew that Olivier Armstrong had went to live with her trainer with age twelve, for numerous reasons. The conditions in the North for daily training were better for once, though Buccaneer had already said that she had a strong connection to her parents. Pressured herself too much when around them, wanting to impress them.

Solaris had mentioned that they’d gotten her the two when she was sixteen, after she’d debuted at the seniors. Had fought with homesickness then, after her family stayed at the pension for the weeks leading up to it, having a hard time with handling their departure. Marvelled at the smile she wore on so many of the photographs, feeling the heat in his cheeks rise again.

She was a legend on the ice, infamous when not on it. Was known for having quite a temper, to be wilful. But also to get along with many, the pictures all around him showing how true that was. He’d always watched when it was her turn to skate, whether in front of the television, or when she participated in the same contests as him.

Yet he’d always been too shy to say anything to her, just let her walk past, their eyes meeting the most that ever happened.

But there’d been more reason to him dancing her choreography than him simply admiring her craftmanship.

Shook his head, trying to clear it of the confusing feelings.

Looked around some more, the small wardrobe and drawer, a bunch of plushies in one corner. It was tradition to throw these on the ice after a good performance and many people brought those they thought were befitting their favourite skater. Her large assortment of dog-plushies was testament to that. Spotted a half-packed gym bag, leggings and shirts peeking out, a towel or two, too. A few posters, though he certainly had hung up more in his flat. And then he spotted something that had him fall back on the mattress, face turning red again.

There hung a printed-out picture of him, a still from the video Mustang had sent around.

He was smiling in it, looking peaceful.

* * *

 

The jog to the Palace was the perfect length to arrive warmed up for training.

He’d slept soundly, thanks to all the commotion of the day before, only interrupted once. Large paws had woken him by stepping onto him and by the way he felt when finally getting up, one of the huge dogs had slept on him a good portion of the night.

Yet, when he got up, her bed was already empty again, dogs gone too.

Got inside with the key given to him, the sun not even up completely, changed into his training clothes and put on his skates. Walked to the rink, ready for some early-morning training, all alone. He wanted to get a feel for the ice, wanted his first moments of missing the rink he’d once called his home, to be just his. Maybe turn the music up, to be at his best when the others arrived, so he could show that the faith put in him was not wasted.

And stepping inside the main part of the building, he learned that he wasn’t the earliest bird.

Watched her land a triple toe loop with graceful ease, already entranced. Saw her enter into a spin, posture perfect, not only years of skating, but years of ballet showing. Sighed, when she did an Ina Bauer, face at ease, looking almost ecstatically calm. Her hair was open, whipping behind her, so long that Buccaneer would probably scold her for not tying it up.

People were impressed with her jumps, the height of her arms and legs, her perfect landings. And they did right by that, because he had little doubt that she’d be the first woman to land a quadruple jump in a competition soon. But her other elements, her footwork, her spread eagles, were criminally underrated.

The music was only in his ears, headphones tightly over them, but when her eyes locked onto his, he still had the feeling that it stopped.

She said something, but he didn’t hear it.

Scrambled to get his headphones out of his ears, while she skated to the edge, more rigid than before, the ease having left her. Got them out awfully long moments after she was already leaning on the handrail, watching him. Sound finally returning, he smiled bashfully.

“So, you’re an early bird too?”

He could only nod, a blush creeping onto his cheeks, only pulled out of it when he heard barking to his right. In a closed off part of the hall sat Velikan and Tolstyak, swishing their tales excitedly at him.

Waved at them, feeling stupid for it immediately, albeit it being answered with happy yapping. Heard her snicker from where she stood, his eyes snapping back to hers.

“They like you! Tolstyak even slept on you tonight I think. I hope you don’t mind? I could make him stop?”

Was a little amazed at her words, kind and coming forth easily, something that apparently showed. The slightest of blushes crept over her cheeks.

“Sorry for yesterday by the way, I acted like an ass.”

And after a bit more silence he finally caught up to the heart in his throat, pulled it down again and smiled.

“It’s alright, really, I’m putting you out with my arrival after all. And no to your other question, I don’t really mind, though Tolstyak really is heavy.”

“Well, his name means “fatty” in amestrian, so you’d expect him to be, right?”

Smiled at him, only a little, which had his heart going crazy again.

They settled on sharing the space available, both skating freely, mindful of the other, but not minding them. After half an hour of only the sound of skates on ice, he asked if he could put on his music through the big player, to which she told him that she didn’t mind.

When Buccaneer walked into the rink an hour later he marvelled at the two, skating different figures to the same tune, yet in perfect unison.

* * *

 

He felt at ease with the way his life was going at the moment.

Six out of seven mornings he trained together with Olivier. They jogged together to the rink, pulled by the strong dogs, dancing on the ice to the others music, taking turns with who’s would be played. Buccaneer was coming in earlier each day, though kept to the side, so they didn’t mind too much. Trained them then, all of those at the pension sharing the ice. Walked back to the pension at middays, helping with dinner for the guests and then eating their own, the whole mismatched skating-family together. Alternating each day, they trained ballet with Solaris, while the other got solo training with Buccaneer. In the afternoon it was more training as a group, their trainer keeping an eye on all of them, sometimes practicing their figures on the ice, sometimes all meeting in a gym, working on their strength.

Soon, he felt his form get better. He could skate longer, jumped higher and though he still had some trouble with landing certain jumps, these troubles steadily decreased. He still missed the days at East City terribly, but it got easier to bear with how well things were going.

Though the distance to his family felt almost unbearable at times.

She’d noticed in the morning, on their one day free of training and had talked him into walking the dogs with her. They’d equipped themselves with warm clothes, her pulling on her rose parker, he the new olive jacket they’d bought at a local store.

Were out and about after a few minutes, the cool air crisp, cold bringing a flush to their cheeks, turning their noses pink.

“Was anybody hurt when the East City Skating Rink burned to the ground?”

Her question catching him off-guard, their usual topics less personal. Though it wasn’t a bad one at all, something he’d hardly thought about if he was honest.

“Not as far as I now, no. Why do you want to know, Olivier?”

She’d soon been fed up with him always calling her Armstrong, had given him permission to use her first name. And he’d told her his, though she wasn’t using it, aware of what it meant in Ishval, if you called someone you weren’t related to with it. Only spouses did that.

Watched her hop onto a little wall by the pavement, handing him the dogs.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you that I hope Mustang got his eyebrows burned off?”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

Laughed when she huffed, waiting for her answer. Sighing, she came to a halt, looking at him.

“You trained so long there, it must’ve been like home to you. I know that the Palace is to me. And if something happened to the place, I’d be sad. But if something happened to all the people working there, I’d be heartbroken.”

Had never looked at it like this, somehow feeling distressed and glad at the same time. He’d never spared a thought to how he would feel if anybody had been hurt, simply because nobody had been, and instead decided to wallow in his self-pity. Felt glad that nobody had been hurt instead now, having lost the place he thought to be home or not.

“Never looked at it like this. I should really be glad, huh?”

That’s when she laughed, a sound like bells, clear and happy.

“Like I’d tell you what to do!”

“Because you don’t do it all the time?”

His sarcasm making her laugh again, him doing the same and both of them moving forward again.

He’d gotten used to everybody in the short time he was in North City, just now realising that it felt like a family. He missed his parents, his grandfather, his siblings, but he’d found another family too, someone who kept an eye on him, cared for him.

Smiling to himself, he asked her something that was on his mind.

“You already know what your next choreography will be about?”

She still walked on the wall, balance top notch, hands in her parka-pockets, shrugging.

“I don’t really know yet. I want to surprise the audience, but am really not sure with what. You?”

Shrugged too, looking up at her, leashes in hand.

“Not really sure either, though I know that I want it to be some kind of bang. I feel really different since coming here, like I could take on so much more. I want the people to see that.”

Smiled up at her, openly, heart beating faster when she returned it. Their eyes locked, gazes holding while they walked, he on the pavement and she on the wall.

Until she fell.

Boot slipping, snow sludge sending her tumbling in his direction, him letting go of the dogs. Everything seemed slow, the startled expression on her face, the try to get her hands out of her jacket. His own hands, coming up to meet her, grabbing onto her waist and holding her tight.

Remaining in this position for a while, her held out up and in front of him, securely, until the dogs jumped around them, their barking pulling them out of the moment.

He set her down gently, only let go when he was sure that her feet were firmly on the ground again.

“You alright?”

Saw her free her hand from the confines of the parker, swipe at her face quickly, before looking up again.

“Yes, thank you.”

Voice not small, but shy, eyes not meeting his. Was worried for a moment, to have done the wrong thing by just touching her, thought dismissing this thought immediately again after remembering that just letting somebody smack on the pavement wasn’t really any better.

“You sure?”

His own voice laced with worry, knowing how horrible falling had to be for her, remembering the things he’d seen on TV so many years ago, replayed at every major event she participated in. Thought about what he’d seen of her, knew of her, what others had told him, too.

Forgetting it again, when her eyes finally met his and a smile stretched her full lips, cheeks blushing.

“Yes.”

They collected the dogs and went on with their walk, a bit closer together.

* * *

 

She put off the task of cleaning out the room designated to him.

Had not been happy with him being parked in her room for the night in the beginning, but by now was rather fond of it. She always was up before him, watching for a while how he slept. How he fought with Tolstyak, the Malamute constantly trying to get more and more space of the bed for himself.

Woke him up then, with a nudge of her foot, both of them brushing their teeth, combing out their hair and dressing, before sneaking into the kitchen, already well-manned at the time of day. They’d get coffee, a quick breakfast and then go for a jog with the dogs, ending at the Palace, ready to train.

It had taken her some time to truly warm up to him, granted, but she’d soon found that they mixed rather naturally.

Sharing the ice with him was easy, felt good even and more often than she was willing to admit, she caught them doing the same moves, at the same time. It was a fit, felt a bit like it had felt with Kimblee back in the day, though with him it had been wholly different.

There’d been nothing between Kimblee and her, they’d just been two teens at the time, equally ambitious. They hadn’t been friends, they hadn’t talked outside of training and only when he did not catch her that fateful day, she’d understood that ambition wasn’t enough.

Instead of working together afterwards, he’d berated her for not catching herself and she’d berated him for not even trying to break her fall. After two more weeks of constant fighting, of constant disrespect, Buccaneer send him away.

She’d sworn to herself to never skate with a partner again.

And then Miles was around her every day, shared her mornings, made her laugh. Kitchen-duty together with him was fun, trying out new music wasn’t tiring, but exiting. She watched him grow each day, confidence in himself blooming, a man suddenly not so afraid to be himself.

And then he’d caught her.

She’d slipped, and he’d caught her, and he’d only set her down when he was sure that she was alright.

Towards Kimblee she’d never felt anything, but when Miles entered the room, her heart beat faster.

Buccaneer noticed that she trained harder, put more expression into everything. And she knew that she laughed more, did close herself off less. Worked with her trainer on her new program, using a song he’d shown her during one of their shared mornings. Based it on a question he’d asked her, one she hadn’t been able to give him an answer to.

“What does it mean for you to be Mira, then?”

They’d talked about names, about meanings and she’d let slip that Mira seemed to be so different from the Olivier everybody knew. Wanted to explore who she was too, find out more about herself and maybe afterwards be able to figure out what she felt towards Miles too, because she had no clue.

And all of that had led to her standing in front of him, both warmed up, already skating for half an hour, the sun having not yet risen in the sky.

Arms folded in front of her chest, red eyes on hers, all of a sudden feeling nervous.

“Would you like to work on a pair-skate program with me?”

Saw him stand there slack-jawed for a while, before he caught himself, nervously pushing a strand of hair behind his ear, which had escaped his ponytail.

Almost hadn’t caught his nod, the small smile following it.

Since then, they weren’t training separately every morning, but together.

The first few days they stayed on the ground, only trying out lifts you’d show when ice dancing, nothing higher than his shoulders. Got comfortable with the other, the feel of hands on the others body. They adapted their pacing, their speed, soon trying more difficult things.

He’d told her how nervous he was before training overhead lifts, having last done this when still a junior. And she’d started slowly with him then, both getting a feel for it over the course of several weeks.

When he was to throw her for the first time, he insisted to do it off the ice.

“What if you slip my grip?”

Did not want to tell him that she feared that too, was a bundle of nerves since they started training in secret together and so agreed.

Together they took off their skates, stood beside the rink, where the ceiling was still high. He threw her, timidly at first, catching her by the hip. With each throw growing braver, always asking if she was alright before doing the next. The dogs heads bobbed up and down in tune.

And she felt safe, twisted, felt her old skills return. Her old certainty to be caught.

Holding onto her hips, looking up, he smiled at her.

“On the ice now?”

“Yes!”

Both putting on their skates again, Velikan and Tolstyak looking from their spot in the corner.

They warmed up again, practiced easy lifts first, small jumps together. She saw his smile flash before her, white teeth on a handsome face. Had often noticed how broad-chested he was, especially compared to other skaters. Was the only Ishvalan in the upper tiers, though others were slowly but surely climbing upwards. Noticed, when he grabbed her hips to throw her above his head, that she’d fallen for him and nothing less.

Mid-air she heard the bang of the door, the sound of a skate, skidding over the ice, and prepared for the inevitable.

Only to be caught by the waist, arms winding around her middle, Miles bracing her fall.

Heard him smack to the ground hard, heard him groan and the angry billowing voice of Buccaneer, screaming in Drachman. Not caring about that at the moment, she freed herself from Miles grip, kneeling next to him.

He rubbed the back of his head, looking up at her with an inquiringly raised eyebrow.

“You alright?”

Felt her hand feel along the back of his head, searching for blood, for broken bone, all the while looking into his eyes.

“You caught me, so yes.”

Smiled, him smiling back.

_“Olivier Mira Armstrong, you come here this second!”_

Miles eyes flickering to their trainer, standing on the edge of the rink, looking more like a feral bear than ever before, billowing in his mother tongue. Could see that he wasn’t understanding one word Buccaneer was saying now.

“Uh, he’s angry.”

Helped Miles sit up, confirmed with a nod that she could leave him there waiting, safe as it was, seeing that Buccaneer had no skates on his feet.

“Yep, only uses my full name rarely.”

And went over to them man, huffing and puffing and looking ready to tear the Palace apart.

_“What the hell was that?!”_

_“We trained!”_

Folded her arms in front of her chest at the face he made.

_“He coerced you too? Though you aren’t comfortable? I should’ve known!”_

Big hands digging through his hair, looking angry and distraught, all at once.

_“Are you hurt?”_

Sighed, shaking her head at him.

_“No, he caught me.”_

_“He caught you?”_

Nodded, amazed at how blind Buccaneer could be when raging.

_“No part of me hit the ice, he took the brunt of it all.”_

Not mentioning that they’d been startled, because really, what good would it do?

_“And why did you fall in the first place?”_

The man calmer now, though the danger not yet over.

_“Because I asked him to prepare a pair-skate program with me.”_

The answer apparently too much for Buccaneer, because now he was stammering.

_“You…you asked…him?!”_

_“Yes, I trust him.”_

Not only with him catching me, but to hold his promises, to give it his all. Buccaneer understood. Looked at her, two metres tall and not making her feel small in any way, almost teary.

_“Are you really sure Liv?”_

He’d been her father since the age of twelve, she’d long since understood that. He’d been there for her, send her to school and looked at boys menacingly when she reached a certain age. Cared for her, feed her, loved her. She was luckier than most, having two dads that loved her.

_“I am!”_

She gave her answer with a firm voice, making him smile.

* * *

 

The girl had no idea how smitten Miles was with her.

He trained with him every day, spent hours alone with him every second. Watched them train in the mornings, butting in rarely, always having been fond of his skaters finding their style by themselves. And these two needed little input, both exceptional, even more so as a pair.

Miles had somehow taken away her fear of falling, probably not even intending to do so.

Of course, he’d noticed that they’d become friends fast, how couldn’t he. They still slept in the same room, was aware that Liv wasn’t just not cleaning out the room designated to the other out of laziness. They trained together in the mornings, did kitchen duty together, walked her dogs. Showed the other music, costumes, exchanged ideas for their programs over almost every meal.

He had a smartphone, though sometimes trouble with using it, had seen the pictures his disciples posted. Miles had only started a few weeks after arriving, when he seemed to be properly settled, but since then his feed had exploded. The Palace, every nook and cranny of the city. Pictures from practice, pictures of Velikan and Tolstyak. Pictures of Liv.

Miles had displayed the usual infatuation at arrival, everybody had at first.

He’d taken over her training shortly after she’d turned twelve and the year afterwards she’d won the world-championship with the juniors. Her reputation, her skill preceded her, the boys coming to him often endeared to the image shown on TV. It usually lasted no longer than a week, two at the most, when they were confronted with the lazy young woman, walking through the house, disguised as a heap of dirty laundry. She was loud, commanding and withdrawn at the same time, needed more than just a few weeks to warm up to someone. Sometimes never did.

And yet, he’d managed what others couldn’t in a mere few weeks, his infatuation from the beginning deepening.

He saw it in the way they danced on the ice. This weren’t two people doing their best to win, this wasn’t ambition, or friendship. In his eyes at least, it was love, plain and simple. If he toppled over during training, he caught her in a way that had him take the brunt of the fall. Was careful when they trained throws, always made double sure that she was okay with it.

When she suggested music to him, he listened to it. And when the music for their programs, single and pair, had been decided on, he listened to her other suggestions too, concerning what to show exactly. It went so far, the he himself suggested things to her, so she would suggest them to his newest disciple. Made everything easier. Would become even more so, if they’d be willing to show each other which music they’d decided on, keeping it a secret from one another.

Miles had to show his solo program at the amestrian qualifiers, because of his sub-par performance last season not automatically listed for the world-championship. It wouldn’t be too hard for him, they’d already decided on easier jumps, the qualification mark easy for him to reach. And if he did well in the championship, reached the finals of it, he’d be able to compete at Olympia too, no doubt. Only little more than a year away now, the one thing all skaters focused on.

Liv was set for the championship already, having made second place last year, though she’d her eyes set on the top-spot. Had been met with weird looks when driving with them to the qualifiers, to be held in Central. People not yet knew that she’d perform with Miles at pair-skating, she ambitious, her partner only set on not letting her fall.

He’d butted in there too, when short and freestyle were planned and practiced, settling them on easier jumps, the competition beatable if they were solid in their expression. Did not tell them that he was very positive that they could make it to Olympia with this performance too, both aware of the fun they had doing what they did, but not of just how good they were.

Watched as Miles warmed up, Liv leaning onto the handrail next to him.

“Think he’ll win?”

She huffed at his question, breath a small cloud in front of her face.

“He’ll trample them into the ground with a smile on his face!”

Laughed at her words, squeezed her shoulder, what she answered with a sharp hit of her elbow. Went over to his disciple, the next to show his short-program, Karley and Henschel already through.

“All set?”

Getting a nervous glance as an answer, seeing the stiffness in Miles back.

“Have to be, don’t I?”

Had expected the uncertainty, knew that the man would be nervous because of last season. Miles was the type to worry, to be unsure of himself. They’d worked on this mentality, had achieved a lot in the short time that he trained him, but that the first competition unearthed everything was normal.

“Listen up!”

Sounded more forceful than he had to be, putting his hands on Miles shoulders, looking into his red eyes firmly.

“We believe in you! You’ve got talent, skill and the will to win. You can not only win here, or the championship, but I fully believe that you can win any competition this world has to offer. But you must believe in yourself first, for that to happen! So, go out there, show me your best!”

The Ishvalan nodded, jaw set and stepping onto the ice, volume in the hall rising.

He had plenty of fans, was loved for his style, the kindness he conveyed. And Buccaneer was quite sure that a lot of ladies were also screaming for him simply because of how broad-chested he was. The outfit they’d chosen to have made was simple, black trousers and a black vest, over a white dress-shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. But it showed strong arms, a bit of chest and judging by the reaction Mustang usually got when wearing such outfits, the way the people screamed now, they were quite popular.

Buccaneer settled next to Liv again, watching intently as Miles got into position. She’d not seen his program in full, he knew she’d never been told the theme of it. Watched her jaw locking, emotion sweeping through her eyes, when the song started to play.

“Wicked game” by Chris Isaak was a bold choice, but with the first slight movement of his head to the side, the hall was sold.

He knew that Miles was smitten with her, because the Ishvalan had told him so. Told her right now too, with the way he threw himself into the spread eagle, how he looked at her during a difficult sequence of steps.

And he let his eyes stray from his disciple when he landed his first jump of the program perfectly, a triple salchow, to look at his other next to him.

And wasn’t shocked when he discovered that she was smitten with him too.

* * *

 

Word had gotten around before they’d stepped onto the ice.

People had noticed her being there, though she needed not to qualify for anything. Speculations had run wild, rumours flown around and as soon as she’d stepped into the Central City Skating Rink together with him in the morning, the trademark white skates slung over her shoulder, dressed in her tracksuit, people had known what was up. Within minutes the last day of the amestrian qualifiers was sold out.

And it made him nervous.

He paced through the changing room assigned to them, only her and him for the day. Buccaneer helped her with her costume in another room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

They’d barely talked after yesterday, after he’d performed his short and freestyle, qualifying for the world-championship with a score that was already better than his seasons best last year. She’d not known which songs he’d ultimately chosen, though she knew every other step of his programs. And judging by her expression, he’d gone too far, lyrics so clear. His looks at her.

Had fought with himself for a while, asked himself if he should feel ashamed, but deciding not to be.

He’d been honest, in the only way he knew. Had danced for her upon the ice, twice and only for her truly. Of course, Buccaneer had built him up, the family he’d gained, the new home. But if he was honest, he did it all for her.

Had wanted nothing more than to impress her at first, had seen her as an ethereal being. And when he learned that she snored in her sleep, burped at the dinner table and laughed at silly jokes. When he noticed that she got cold easily, loved to think up new moves, was afraid to fall again, that’s when he understood that she was decidedly human.

And that was when he fell for her, heart and soul.

Buccaneer shoved her into the changing room, Jacket thrown over her shoulders, with a look that told Miles that a few heavy words were to come.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Watched her like a hawk when she sat down, all ready, decidedly beautiful.

They’d gotten her a white dress made for their pair-skate performance, knee-length, shoulders only held by skin-coloured cloth, would seem bare to the spectators. Over and over set with little stones, glittering in the light, making her seem like a fresh plain of snow, touched by the first light of the morning. Had pulled her hair into a bun on the back of her head, a few strands escaping, curling around her face. Make up of course seeming overdone up close, though this impression would cease once they were on the ice.

Pulled on his shirt on last time, clothed in black from head to toe. Had rolled up his sleeves to his elbows again, he thankful for the room to manoeuvre. A hint of red tinting his cheeks at the shirt they’d given him, a bit too open on the chest for his tastes.

Her eyes locking onto his, red on blue, his breath catching in his throat.

“Your song yesterday, what did it mean?”

Blurted it out, seeming almost out of breath to him, playing with the hem of her jacket.

“Which one?”

Feeling stupid for his own question immediately, because the piece for his freeform was instrumental, had no text one could interpret wrong.

Saw it reflected on her face, eyebrows risen, looking less than pleased at him for answering her question with another.

Rolled her eyes, sighing exasperatedly.

“Yeah, okay, I’m stupid, I get it! But why do you want to know?”

“Because you were looking at me all the time, while Isaac Clark sang about love!”

She got up forcefully, the jacket sliding from her shoulders. Stood in front of him, breathing hard. And instead of saying anything, instead of telling a noncommittal story about how much he liked the song, or anything like that, he took her face in his hands and leaned down.

Pressed his lips to hers, soft and pliant against his, though unmoving. Closed his eyes, pulling back, knowing that he’d gone too far, had broken what he already had with his foolish desire for more.

And then her hands came up around his face, softly following his cheeks, tangling in his hair.

Pulling him back in, pressing her lips on his.

Stepping on the ice several minutes later, he felt ready to take on the world.

* * *

 

Philip Armstrong only rarely saw his eldest daughter since he’d allowed her to be trained by the Drachman Dancing Bear. Though he cherished the times, watched from afar as his little girl turned into a woman, he could barely stand the way his heart clenched at the news of her pair-skating again.

Watched her step on the ice with the Ishvalan, Miles, both looking calm, at peace.

The voice of the announcer loud in his ears, though going unheard.

“And there they are, the first public pair-skate of Olivier Armstrong, since she earned the title of Ice Queen!”

Roy Mustang had of course hung around when he heard that Miles was coming to Central for the qualifiers. He himself didn’t have to skate, but watched, had been irritated when he’d seen her around too. Was sure that it wasn’t just moral support, but something more.

Watched them sway when the music started, an unplugged version of Florence and the Machines “No light, no light”. Had chatted with Miles, knew that he’d chosen the song with her blessing.

Watched entranced with all the others when they started their sequenced steps, impossibly close.

“Perfect pacing of each step to the music and now they enter a parallel mirror spread eagle. Watch how close they are during that!”

Solf Kimblee watched them on TV, after his current training partners had insisted on him to come and watch, too. He hadn’t known that she started pair-skating again and he immediately wondered if they couldn’t have found anybody better than this Ishvalan second-class skater.

Watched the man as he lifted her in a Besti-squat, making it look laughable easy.

He had to admit that they weren’t even half-bad.

“And now they are showing Twizzles, watch how in sync they are!”

Grumman had trained the boy long enough, to know that his only weakness was his ailing self-confidence. The Drachman Dancing Bear though seemed to have had more luck with building that up, or maybe it was really just his disciple. Mourned still, that he hadn’t been the right one to show the Ishvalan skater his true potential.

Watched as he lifted Buccaneers other disciple, throwing her into a twist, catching her with a firm grip.

Watching the young man though, he didn’t have it in him to be cross.

“Look at the height of this throw, this will gain them high marks! And he catches her securely, that’s the ease you only get from lots of training!”

Buccaneer watched them from the side, content that they’d resolved their issues. He’d asked her what was wrong when helping her with her costume, had given her a stern talking too, really. Shoved her into the changing rooms afterwards, so she could duke it out with Miles. The calm with which they’d stepped onto the ice had spoken volumes, the way they skated just now.

They landed their double-Axel triple-salchow combination perfectly, the following sequence of steps leading them into a death-spiral.

They’d resolved their issues alright and though he knew that she was more than old enough, he felt a pang when he realised that Miles wouldn’t move out of her room anytime soon.

“Out of the spiral they come and here’s the throw! Three full rotations, landed elegantly by Armstrong.”

Miles wasn’t thinking at all, was too focused on her for that. He didn’t hear the people cheer around them, did not care that they were performing their routine perfectly. Was content with being in tune with her, to see her smile, to catch and throw and spin and just be.

Lifted her for the last time, spinning on the spot, before setting her down, both of them showing what he’d always thought to be her most beautiful move.

Watched her during their in-sync Ina Bauer’s, how elegantly her neck curved, her eyes closed. Caught her in his arms after four more steps, sinking to their knees in tune with the music.

Both elegantly lifting an arm in the air, faces close, breathing hard.

When the music stopped, they embraced tightly.

* * *

 

Held her as tight in another skating rink, not a year later.

Sound returned to his ears, the screaming and clapping of the packed hall. Pressed a kiss to her hair before letting her go, program this time not seeing them on their knees, though an exhausted embrace had become their thing after a performance. Held her hand when they skated through the rink, waving, smiling. Picked up and threw her a malamute-plushie, looking suspiciously like Velikan, just to catch a Tolstyak look-alike from her.

Left the rink, people still so very loud, yet he had no idea how they’d performed this time. The world got too small when he skated with her, still did, even a year later. Not even the atmosphere of Olympia could change that. Were both greeted by Buccaneer outside the rink, ecstatically, which was always a good sign. Were handed their jackets, sat down at the Kiss and Cry, ready to receive their score.

The pint-sized ice cleaning girls brought them more gifts from the audience while they waited, the two soon sitting in a pile of flowers and stuffed animals. Almost missed their score, debating which to keep and which to gift away.

Both sitting there, mouth agape, receiving a new seasons-best.

Remained in the leader’s box until the fourth Olympic skating-medal was clear for Amestris, until the third gold-medal was confirmed.

And he didn’t think too long about it when he took her face in his hands then, pressed his lips to hers in by now practiced fashion, though to the outside-world it had always been rumours only. Closed his eyes, felt her lean in and only when Buccaneer shoved them, he broke the kiss, heard her giggle.

What truly hit home though, was when Olivier told one of the interviewers later, that she’d already won gold before competing.

Wiggling her gloved hand at the camera.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite you to leave:
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